Late this afternoon I walked and jogged Z Man's Beer Mile in 18:51.
Yesterday I lost $2 at Oaklawn Park before I wrote a story about the Martha Washington Stakes, which is sort of like the Southwest Stakes except that it's for three-year-old filles. The Southwest, open to any three-year-old, is a week from tomorrow. After five trips, I have lost a total of $12.80.
I PLAN TO STAB...
...the next person who says "last rodeo," unless they're talking about a last rodeo
Paragraph(s) of the day from A Different Closet
She laughed and again leaned back but this time involuntarily, and he watched her begin a descent along the refrigerator door. He saw Post-it Notes and recipes and snap shots once secured by magnets and tape scatter in a quiet cascade. He stood to help, but it was too late. Momentum carried her to an inevitable landing, which Keith hoped had been adequately padded by her old cotton corduroys and all the Milwaukee’s Best she’d drunk.
She was still laughing, to his relief. “You know, it’s always fun to see potential disaster reduced to slapstick,” he said.
Seated on the dark blue kitchen tile, the cans of beer still in place in her hands, Karen turned her reddened face toward his. “Shut up. I have a beer for you.”
He sat beside her on the floor. They gathered notes and photographs and a collection of decorative magnets. “Are you sure you’re OK?”
“I’m fine, just a little embarrassed. Do you know how much I love you?”
“I think so, yes.”
“Why do you have to be gay?”
“I don’t know. It’s a matter of genetics, I guess. Anyway, that’s what they tell me.”
“But you were married, and there was Cam. Didn’t you compromise for them?”
“I guess I did, yes.”
“Why can’t you for me?”
“I don’t know. If I could, I would.”
“But you can’t.”
“No.”
“Rats.”
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